


Promise To Love me

by sexystylinson



Series: Promise [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Louis, Cute Louis, Dominant Harry, Drug Addition, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealous Harry, Jealous Louis, Light Angst, Protective Harry, Protective Louis, Recreational Drug Use, Sassy Louis, Smut, Top Harry, University Student Harry, University Student Louis, rugby player harry, trigger - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexystylinson/pseuds/sexystylinson
Summary: written by SS98“What are you doing?” Louis came to sit at the foot of the bed where Harry was hunchedover something.Unsurprisingly, Harry was eager to test out his latest purchase and was hard at workcleaning up the projector without compromising its design. “Thinking of watching a moviewith this thing tonight.”“Oh.” Louis picked up a stray screwdriver and twirled it between his fingers. “Can Icome?”When Harry raised his head he was rattled by the calm over Louis’ features, as if thequestion he just posed was entirely plausible. He leaned across a short distance to kiss theboy’s lips, feeling them arch into a grin against his mouth. “Yeah, baby. I need my kittenwith me at all times.”All credit goes to the original writer SS98





	Promise To Love me

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt write i single word of this fanfic all credit goes to SS98

“Ow, motherf-” Harry withdrew his hand from the shabbily pitched picnic table displaying  
umpteen things which are all on sale today. He studied the shallow wound on his thumb before  
holding it to his lips and licking off the faint crimson droplet.

To his left a mother was assuring her twin girls that they’d be able to play with their new dolls  
after they’ve eaten their dinner. The children of this house-owner were jumping in their treehouse  
meters above Harry’s head until he moved away. Harry wonders if Louis will find a toy that’s  
mesmerising enough for Harry to play parent as well.

Louis wanted to be here and of course that meant Harry would willingly accompany his boy even  
if the words yard sale made his skin crawl. Harry is not a firm admirer of second-hand objects  
waltzing into his home with their countless diseases and in their decrepit conditions. Somehow, his  
new housemate managed to make purchasing used belongings sound tolerable. ‘They have souls,  
Harry. It’s like they have their own stories to tell and I wanna hear ‘em so go put on some pants.’  
They were here because Louis has just moved his boxes into Harry’s house – their home now –  
so he decided to celebrate via taking a trip to a garage sale down the street. Louis was thrilled to  
be part of the suburbs and not the rank, noisy city whilst it lay only a few minutes away by car.  
Presently Harry has to put up with being surrounded by junk while Louis retrieved random items  
of his fancy. First was an oil painting of a puppy litter which Harry instantly refused; the face  
painting set that followed made Harry’s life flash before his eyes. That which they agreed on  
seemed to just be two first edition novels by authors neither had heard of and a set of sketching  
pencils. Harry had a penchant for art – both viewing and conjuring – so Louis encouraged him not  
to shy away from a canvas.

Louis had gotten the man running this fiasco to ring up his choices and stood bargaining with him  
for twenty minutes while Harry monitored them. It was almost shocking to see Louis pretend to  
cry when his companion would not budge, then walk away with a proud grin after winning.  
“Must you reign terror everywhere, kitten?” Harry welcomed his boy back with an arm winding  
around Louis’ waist, lowering his lips to kiss Louis’ forehead.

Louis was remorseless. “He asked for thirty bucks when this is only worth twelve at most.”  
“Alright, love. Ready to go?” Harry looked at his bulkier than life wristwatch for the time. The  
sunset was already beginning to fan out in glimmering satin threads of flared orange and magenta.  
Surprisingly, it was not Louis who stopped them when they were close to the sidewalk again.  
Harry had stopped something even with the rapidly dimming sunlight and flickering streetlights  
jarring his vision. It lay on a plastic lawn chair in dusty neglect, the brand label from having peeled  
off with age and use. He tugged a confused Louis along to closer examine the object.

“A projector?” Louis sneezed when a gust of wind got under his shirt, a grimace forming on his  
face as if he could lash out at the weather itself.

Harry saw that the slightly scratched but still functional projector device was going for fifty bucks  
and stood in consideration of how desperately he wanted it. He has always thought a projector’s  
purpose was coveted and much more thrilling than an ordinary television.

“Might be cool.” Harry offers a meaningless shrug while he turns over the contraption to check its  
finer details. “Don’t you think?”

Louis knows he dragged Harry all the way here practically as an unnecessary fieldtrip to bide time  
during their afternoon together, so he will be the last one who tears the man away when he’s  
found something of preference.  
“Might be cool.” He supplies truthfully when already his mind has begun to create images of cosy  
movie nights. “You getting it?”

Harry remains silent for a little while after Louis asks the question so he exhales loudly and turns  
to redirect his attention.

“Lou?” Harry turned to his bored but silent partner in deliberation.  
The boy paused his inspection of a nearby knife-stand. “Hmm?”  
“Think you can bargain for me on this one?”

* * * * *  
Unpacking his boxes is not what Louis wanted to do with his evening and he made sure everyone  
knew it by means of his consistent groans, mewls and grumbled complaints under his breath.  
Gemma completely retired after Louis strolled into the kitchen with a new rip on his T-shirt  
searching for bandaids after cutting himself on a Stanley knife. She’d taken the last of her personal  
belongings to the flat Louis vacated just the day before, and would begin searching for a  
roommate as soon as time permits.

Harry applauded Louis when the boy walked back into their now shared bedroom with his  
dreadfully bland plasters in an X over his wound. He gladly took the bullet – a projectile pillow –  
to his head when Louis retaliated.  
“What are you doing?” Louis came to sit at the foot of the bed where Harry was hunched over  
something.

Unsurprisingly, Harry was eager to test out his latest purchase and was hard at work cleaning up  
the projector without compromising its design. “Thinking of watching a movie with this thing  
tonight.”

“Oh.” Louis picked up a stray screwdriver and twirled it between his fingers. “Can I come?”  
When Harry raised his head he was rattled by the calm over Louis’ features, as if the question he  
just posed was entirely plausible. He leaned across a short distance to kiss the boy’s lips, feeling  
them arch into a grin against his mouth. “Yeah, baby. I need my kitten with me at all times.”  
That was enough to send Louis back to work with a little mischief playing in the blue of his eyes.  
Harry decided to let that slide momentarily as he found a jobless, crisp bedsheet and ironed it out  
so not a single crease would disrupt the image projected onto it. It was quite a hassle shifting  
around his bedroom furniture after that so nothing was against the southerly wall where Harry  
pinned the bedsheet at four corners, drawing it out to be taut. He situated a low stand against the  
foot of the bed where the projector would sit and connected it to his laptop for a test run.

Louis took a shower while Harry immersed himself in the workings of his new toy; he gets to see  
the man thusly absorbed in his occupation only when he’s on the field and this is refreshing. Harry  
has dirtied hands by the time Louis walks out of the bathroom, with little slits in the skin from  
fixing whatever was not to his standard in the projector’s innards. It will suffice to say that  
studying for an ironclad degree in engineering has made Harry paranoid about technology that is  
not custom.

“Would now be the right time to mention that we don’t have any popcorn?” Louis speaks up from  
the closet where he’s dressing himself in sweatpants which had its legs chopped off mid-thigh. He  
blames Jef erson’s B&G for making him so fond of bare skin above the knee.  
Harry pauses in his mission to find clothing for after his shower. Two things strike him about  
Louis’ remark: the fact that they have no popcorn and that Louis said we in referral to their home  
with their groceries. “Um- That’s fine. We’ll go get some after I clean up.”  
“Can I wear my pyjamas?” Louis is already battling to suppress his yawns and doing a notably  
poor job of it, but his eyes are shimmering with the slightest unshed tears and that makes him  
precious enough to obey.

“Of course.”

Louis raised a questioning brow. “Because last time you said I could and then didn’t let me get out  
of the car.”

Harry chuckled at the recollection of his trying to get snacks for them to watch Dr Seuss’ The  
Lorax. He’ll go to his grave with the stinging memory of Louis crying when the first tree was  
chopped down and the forest creatures made a circular grave of stone around it. Louis went out  
the next day and started a garden in Harry’s backyard that has since bloomed into an extravagant  
array of colours below their balcony.

“If you recall correctly-” Harry rested his hands on Louis’ bare hips beneath the latter’s shirt –  
there’s not going to be a time when he simply settles for the clothed exterior – and thinks of the  
silliest petnames. “-my sugarpie dumpling, I also did not get out of the car that night.”  
Louis makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “You know how stupid that sounds?”  
Harry laughs, pressing his lips to Louis’ hairline. He gets a little inebriated if he’s in physical  
contact with Louis for too long and who can blame him? “How stupid, baby?”  
Louis shrieks a malevolent cry for aid when Harry lifts him off the ground for a trip into the  
bathroom. “As stupid as you are when you tell me to calm down because it’s just a movie. You’re  
a lunatic tyrant and I can’t believe you tricked me into moving in with you.”

“And you’re my lovely little fireball.” Harry sets Louis down fluidly on the counter, his bottom  
being the last thing he releases, and steps in between Louis’ legs. He’s wearing one of his  
signature weaponised smirk that’s reserved for charming funders into letting the rugby team travel  
to Spain. “I think we might skip the movie ‘cause I feel like we could better occupy our time.”  
Louis is not so easily fooled. A little bit of that harsh resolve kind of melts when Harry dips his  
head to begin nibbling on the still damp skin below his ear. He’s all breathy and wanton by the  
time a decent bruise forms. “H-How?”

Harry sucks on the skin he’s marked, revelling in the softness between his teeth and flicks his  
tongue over the swelling to soothe the burn. “Thought I might do you instead. How’s that sound,  
kitten? Should take care of my boy first, huh?”

“Maybe.” Louis took to chewing on his lips so he didn’t have the weak will show in his gaze. He  
got a little squirmy at the thought of celebrating their moving in together. “But I’m not that kind of  
girl, Styles.”

“Oh aren’t you?” Harry can be utterly shameless when he’s driven by a singular desire. The heat  
in his gaze provoked a sweet tingling sensation in the pit of his belly; Louis gasped when Harry  
fond a new patch of his skin to abuse. “I think you are, kitten. I think you’d let me do anything I  
wanted to you.”

Louis couldn’t help bursting into laughter when Harry’s fingertips dug into his sides, prompting  
every bit of his sensitivity to being tickled. He shrieked at the profound attack and squirmed  
fervently to escape Harry’s merciless onslaught of tickles, but to no avail. Harry wore a self  
satisfied grin on his face while Louis struggled to liberate himself. He yielded after Louis’ eyes  
began to harbour unshed tears, a few bypassing that barrier to spill over.  
“You’re a monster, Harry Styles.” Louis pouted childishly while Harry took the liberty of wiping  
the wetness from his cheeks. He laid a kiss to Louis’ pursed lips thrice over with an  
unsuppressable smile of his own. “How could you be so mean to me? You know I hate being  
tickled.”

Harry could not dismount his smugness, even with Louis batting his hands away under the illusion  
of discontent. “You love being tickled, kitten. As long as it’s at the right time.”  
Louis stuck his tongue out at the man, quickly withdrawing it when Harry leaned closer to share  
in a chaste peck. He was doing a deplorable job of hiding his private grin. “That wasn’t the right-”  
“Hush now, pretty boy. I’m sorry. Never again, yeah?” Harry grazed Louis’ cheek with his  
knuckles, brushing the stray chestnut locks back behind Louis’ ear. He’d done that the first time  
he met Louis and was a little tipsy, in need of the perfect company.  
“You can make it up to me.” Louis threw his arms around Harry’s neck, preening guiltlessly at his  
façade.

He beckons Harry forth to connect their lips in a less than organised union. Harry tasted like the  
God awful celery and almonds he liked to snack on; Louis loved the trees in their quaint little  
world too much to eat them. He’d never say it out loud but Louis would gladly spend the rest of  
his life convincing Harry that mindlessly snogging like teenagers wins over living constructively.

* * * * *

“I’m thinking of going as a prince this year.” Louis voiced his thoughts as he continued braiding  
half the curls on Harry’s head. The other had just washed his hair and Louis thought this might be  
an outrageous enough statement to make.

Harry continued tapping away on his phone; he savoured the irony of granting Louis full access to  
his devices when the boy couldn’t care less. “For Halloween, you mean?”  
“Yeah.”

“Baby, it’s only July.” Harry pointed out, void of a care for his self-preservation.  
Louis punishingly tugs on one complete braid so that Harry hisses in outrage – the attacker is not  
impressed by Harry’s dramatics. “Who cares if it’s July, Styles?”

“Alright then, a prince.” Harry locks his phone before tossing it aside somewhere to be hunted for  
when they’re in a hurry to leave. He rolls over to wrap his arms around Louis’ left thigh, burying  
his face in the smooth, bared skin.

“How about you?” Louis prompts, characteristically nonchalant towards the man’s altered  
position.

“Bender.” Harry’s answer is muffled by his lips against his new pillow, his posture tranquil. “You  
know, Bender from the Breakfast Club?”

“Oh that reminds me.” Louis cares little to not jostle Harry when he scrambles closer to the bed’s  
edge, snatching something out of his backpack before returning. “Lisa from Chem told me they’re  
showing that movie at the old drive-in.”

Harry is undoubtedly intrigued when he skims over the crumpled flyer in Louis’ hands. They  
were hastily printed and spread across the most populated corners in their town, probably on  
account of the fact that their businesses are become obsolete novelties.  
“This weekend?” Harry asks, reading off the smudged ink.

“Yeah.” Realisation dawns on Louis’ face when the twinkle in Harry’s eye becomes more sinister.  
He clambers off the bed when Harry tries to grab him, releasing an unflattering little squeal when  
the latter manages to yank him back. “Oh no, Styles. You can’t make me go with you.”  
Harry loves aged classic films of all genres and on most days it’s an enticing quirk to find that  
Jaws and The Aristocats had more of a thrilling effect on Harry than anything of this declining  
generation. Louis just didn’t have the attention span for feature length movies with messed up  
audio and too much screaming; if people weren’t bleeding in the first twelve minutes then he  
didn’t care.

“Come on, baby.” Harry murmurs in Louis’ ear once he’s got the boy trapped in the circle of his  
arms again, swaying them unnecessarily in a gentle rhythm. “Let me take you out.”  
“Fine.” Louis wasn’t going to really deny Harry when the man does more than enough to support  
his personal quirks. He tries to hide his grin when Harry scatters an innumerable amount of kisses  
along his neck. “I said I’ll go, Styles.”

“Oh I heard.” Harry is smirking when he bends to pick Louis up, dropping his boy onto the bed  
shortly after.

Louis puts his fingers to his lips and catcalls in scandalous admiration when Harry reaches back to  
pull his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere to the left. He is left giggling manically when  
Harry falls gracelessly forward onto him, their limbs tangled and chests heaving from the impact.  
“You’re so sexy.” Louis walks two of his fingers along the dip between Harry’s pectorals from  
the apex of his abs to his clavicle. He laughs without humility when Harry takes his hand to nibble  
on his fingertips harmlessly. “Aye Papi.”

Harry chuckles when Louis’ palms – of a significantly daintier size compared to his – are flattened  
on his chest when the boy arches his back upward to connect their lips. Ten minutes ago they’d  
been prone to hazardous boredom and now Louis is reeling his companion in between his legs,  
deepening their kiss with a brave teasing flick of his tongue across Harry’s lips.  
“What mood is this then?” Harry bumps Louis’ cheek with the tip of his nose, wearing a soft  
private smile.

Louis sticks his tongue out at the man, turning away quickly to save himself from Harry’s  
snapping jaws leaning into him. “Mood?”

Harry is not immune to the feigned innocence conveyed through Louis’ widened baby blues; he  
sinks his teeth into bottom lip for some kind of grounding. He predicts his boy’s acts of retaliation  
before they’re carried out, and has Louis squirming indignantly against his iron grip not thirty  
seconds later. Louis huffs miserably when he cannot free his wrists from where they’re pinned  
above his head and kicking Harry’s side with his knee does nothing to liberate him.  
“We should get ready to leave if we’re going to make it at all for the movie.” Harry announces  
after glancing at the time. He withdraws from looming over Louis’ sprawled out form with a smug  
expression. “How’s about a kiss, kitten?”

Louis gasps, all faux appal. He sits up with a fluid stretch that should only be as elegant on a feline  
– Harry allows himself a moment of self-appraisal at the convenience of his petname for the boy.  
After they’re showered and Louis is waiting for Harry to pick apart his outfit choice for some  
obscenely logical reason. He sits cross-legged on their bed while Harry approves of his Aerosmith  
band T-shirt as long as it is accompanied by a hoodie, and his jeans is not one which should have  
been thrown out ages ago. It’s not that Louis likes to be treated like a toddler but too often has he  
worn clothes inappropriate according to the weather or event formality which was always to his  
detriment.

They have to stop at a gas station to fill up the tank in Harry’s SUV before getting onto the  
highway, which is just fine for Louis because he takes a stroll into the convenience store for  
snacks he didn’t need until they became visible. Harry drinks enough water to stump Louis so the  
latter picks up a bottle of a familiar brand from the industrial refrigerator followed by a packet of  
Skittles.

Harry is fitting the bill for their petrol when Louis walks out through glass sliding doors armed  
with a plain plastic packet. He ignores the vivid mirth in Harry’s eye when he extracts their  
purchases; Louis’ been on a mission to make Harry treasure soda and other artificially sweetened  
beverages for as long as he can remember but has recently resigned to this fate. Harry is never  
going to stop cringing at the taste of root beer and Louis is not going to stop finding spinach in his  
dinner plate.

“Should we pick up dinner on the way?” Harry asks after a glance at his watch, pulling out from  
under the lewd fluorescent lights and onto the highway. “I don’t think we’ll be back early enough  
to eat at home.”

Louis felt a wondrous tingle in his belly that he tried not to let show in his expression. He has a  
home now, not just a temporary residence until he gets on his feet or for his college life. Oddly  
enough the thought of the house in which they live now is not enough to make Louis suppress a  
giggly teenage girl outburst; he doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm the fact that Harry is what makes it feel  
like home.

“Ugh.” He mutters to himself with a pout.

Harry pauses in the process of rolling down his window. “Something wrong, kitten?”  
“Yes.” Louis stretches out as much as he can in his seat for no other reason than it gave him  
something to do. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm.” The bemusement is poorly sabotaged on Harry’s face. “This must come as much of a  
shock to you, I believe?”

“You suck.” Louis studies the screen of Harry’s GPS before peeling open his Skittles. “Can’t  
believe we’re dating, Styles.”

“Would you prefer another word?” Harry reaches over to pinch Louis’ thigh before making it the  
resting perch of his hand. “Courting? Wooing? Involved with?”  
“I like courting.” Louis vetoes the choice. “We’re courting.”  
Harry ignores the relentless attacks on his hand where it sits clasping Louis’ knee. “We’re  
courting, baby.”

The Astral Place Roadhouse & Drive-In is not only a mouthful when enunciating, but chock-ablock with people trying holding onto a dying innovation. A converted barn sat close to the  
entrance where it was repurposed to serve as a   
diner, and the screenings were a distance ahead on  
nothing but dried grass and dusty tar.

Since Harry decided that they should eat before it got too late, they stopped outside the diner with  
an abundance of buzzing patrons even though Louis’ anxiety concerning them not getting movie  
tickets was through the roof. All that stress had disintegrated when Louis saw that they had a mini  
petting zoo with baby farm animals straight out of dreams. With him leaving Harry in the dust to  
lean over the rickety wooden fence to talk with creatures that couldn’t understand him, Louis was  
not actively part of choosing their dinner.

Harry ordered the chicken nachos for Louis and steak salad for himself, figuring that anything  
more extravagant than water to drink was unnecessary. The wait was extensive and Harry  
couldn’t stand in the commotion of chattering strangers for too long so he stepped out, clutching  
the receipt for his order so it isn’t lost. Some known faces from their campus were also present and  
stopped him on his way out.

Some lads from Harry’s rugby team are here with their respective partners, claiming that this  
drive-in has been talked about on campus for quite some time.  
“Couch flipped out on Angus yesterday in the locker room.” Ryan, the new right wing of their  
team, comments from across Harry in their little circle gathering.  
Harry frowns confusedly. “Because he caused a scrum?”

Ryan shrugs, indicating that he was out of fact. “Suppose so.”  
The prop to their team, Raghav, has something to say even as they are joined by a few of their  
cheerleaders. “He’s been pretty uptight lately. Can’t get a word in edgewise without him blowing  
up.”

“I’d talk to him if I thought it would make any difference.” Harry speaks in the firm tone of voice  
usually reserved for the field. “Just play the game.”  
“Sure thing, Cap’n.” There’s a chorus of agreement even from those who didn’t contribute to their  
dispute.

Charlie, their flanker, doesn’t concede to being satisfied yet. “He hasn’t been wearing his wedding  
ring for the past two weeks.”

An unflattering crescendo of wolf-whistles and ignorant laughter break out in their group, from  
Harry’s team players and cheerleaders alike. He decides to put his foot down at their juvenile  
mockery.

“Now listen here.” Harry speaks as their team superior and the one who has worked to earn their  
respect above all else. He endorsed camaraderie and indulged in it often, but his respect for the  
man who made them champions is unyielding. “It’s none of your business, what the couch is  
going through. He yelled at one of us for a foul and that’s fine. Until he’s making us play in a  
cyclone with thorns for grass, we’re going to keep our comments to ourselves. Am I understood?”  
There was no reason for the cheerleaders to nod obediently as if the reprimanding was for them,  
but they did nonetheless. Harry sent off his companions with awkward brotherly hugs, wrapping  
his faint apology up in the act.

The first thing Harry does after he’s liberated from the tense company of his team members is  
search for Louis, although he hardly has to move before spotting the boy. Louis is walking away  
from the animal pen but he isn’t alone; Harry questions his own judgment in leaving his boy alone  
when the silhouette of some hopeful stranger emerges beside Louis. He can tell that Louis is  
looking for him – or at least a way to escape the persistent individual at his back – so Harry brings  
his fingers to his lips and whistles, long and drawn out.

Louis’ head whips in his direction before his grimace morphs into a mischievous little grin. He  
jogs up to Harry from under a poorly situated streetlight until he’s at the perfect distance to break  
into a run. Harry hardly has time to brace himself before Louis slams into him, swiftly lifting the  
boy up with the inelegant momentum even with his wild laughter.

“Hi, Papi.” Louis is beaming in the most devious, unpredictable manner. He has his legs hooked  
over Harry’s hips and grips the man’s shoulders for some semblance of balance.  
“Hey baby.” Harry gives Louis’ behind a subtle squeeze under the drapery that his larger than life  
hoodie. “Found a new admirer, have we?”

Louis groans with nearly obnoxious volume. “He won’t leave me alone.”  
Harry presses his lips to Louis’ cheek in sympathy but also to find the guy who was after his boy  
earlier. He is sufficiently pleased to discover that they are no longer interested in Louis since he’s  
clearly taken.

“He’s gone now.” Harry gives his boy a chaste peck on his pursed lips and extinguishes Louis’  
scowl by flicking the tip of his nose gently. “Enough pouting, kitten. Nobody is going to take you  
from me.”  
“Good.” Louis frees himself until he’s standing on his own and tilts his head back to study the  
menu board. “Did you get me a milkshake?”

* * * * *

Jef erson’s B&G has been swarming with customers for the past three hours, and showed no sign  
of letting up soon. All the servers were on duty which gave Angie, Gemma and Louis with an  
unequal number of tables to wait on; Louis and Gemma got twelve while Angie had eleven. It  
was exhausting and even with his most comfortable shoes on Louis felt like he might have blisters  
or swelling somewhere.

Tony had his younger cousin, one visiting from none other than Jamaica for a brief vacation, come  
in to help him keep up with the food orders. Jim held fort at the bar until Earl emerged from his  
office to help out as well – profit would be oozing out of these patrons if they pulled off tonight  
successfully.

Gemma was the one to answer their silent questions about why they were so busy after returning  
from taking table ten’s orders. She set her tray down with dirty dishes for the busboy to retrieve  
before speaking. “Apparently there’s a big game this weekend so all these folks came down from  
God knows where to watch.”

“Sports oughtta be a little more glamorous.” Tony commented as he slid two laden plates across to  
Louis, who was salting chips and gathering enough tissues. “I love a sweaty dude as much as  
anyone else does but sometimes it’s just plain gross.”  
Angie laughs, refilling iced teas for some impatient visitors. “I don’t know if you’re saying they  
should shower more or play in pink and glitter.”  
“Both, sugar. Both.”

Someone turns on the jukebox and people get up to dance in celebration of a match not conducted  
yet, making it all the more difficult to manoeuvre around them. Gemma trips half as much as Louis  
does but somehow they manage to not spill anything that will cost them in money or humiliation.  
Angie complains eight times about the hooligan college jocks at the pool tables that pass  
unsavoury comments at her, so Gemma and Louis tell her exactly what to say in return next time.  
Things simmer down after that.

Gemma breaks the finger of some daring hillbilly who grabs her behind and is shortly kicked out  
of the establishment. Louis high fives her on his way back to the kitchens. He himself is asked a  
variety of unexpected and slightly heinous questions ranging from which church he attends to  
whether he’d consent to visiting a local rehabilitation group; each one renders Louis puzzled.  
“That’s it. We’re done for the night.” Jim announces once the last guest exits and he locks the  
door as their parking lot empties.

Tony walks out of the kitchen looking like he hadn’t broken a single sweat and makes his way  
behind the bar for a drink. “So, y’all, I got something to ask.”  
“We’re all ears.” Gemma responds while occupied with tallying up her tips.  
“Who ain’t free this Saturday?” He asks without further explanation, but a spineless assortment of  
unsure mumbles greets his question. “Seriously, you fools.”

Louis is the first to finish counting his tips and is undoubtedly giddy with the sum. “I’m available  
depending on why you’re asking.”

“Same.” Gemma seconds, before Angie and Jim follow her lead.  
“Nah, it ain’t somethin’ weird.” Tony is uncharacteristically hesitant to say what he intends. “I  
want y’all at my wedding.”

Jim choked on the water he’d guzzled and Gemma dropped all the coins in her hand while  
everyone mirrored the same expression of lethal shock. Silence befell their company shortly after  
Tony’s announcement and it was thick with unspeakable confusion, some hints of betrayal.  
Louis was the quickest to recover though. “You’re getting married?”  
“Yeah.” Tony shrugs like he hadn’t put them all through various stages of cardiac arrest. “This  
Saturday too.”

“To a person?” Gemma quirks her brow like the prospect is formidable and ducks from the  
dishcloth that is chucked in her direction. “Being engaged has already made you so cranky.”  
“You fuckers are the worst at answering a goddamn question so I’m gonna do it for y’all. If you  
ain’t at my big day with shiny presents and smiles, y’all are dead to me.” Tony glares at each of  
them in turn but that dies a quick death because Louis is suddenly hugging him as tightly as he  
can. He knew this was the boy’s congratulatory wishes. “Thanks sugar.”

Harry arrives to fetch Louis after an especially exhausting day but comes into the restaurant to pay  
everyone his regards like an eighteenth century gentleman. He congratulates Tony on his  
upcoming nuptials and maybe the hug they share is extended because Tony declares in jest that  
it’ll be the last time he can indulge in another man’s touch so Louis breaks them up.  
“You ain’t gonna be a thirteen after this.” Tony warns Louis’ companion amusedly. “Enjoy it  
before it ain’t true no more, sugar.”

Louis dismisses such a remark with a roll of his eyes; he gives Harry a kiss once they’re out in the  
parking lot with just the racket of nearby crickets. “You’ll always be a thirteen to me, you know.”  
“Doesn’t matter to me, kitten.” Harry opens Louis’ door for him before the boy can argue with  
him. “As long as you don’t plan on going anywhere.”

* * * * *

Louis’ phone is always on silent even if the occasion does not call for it so it isn’t his phone that  
interrupts their heated make-out session. He is astride Harry’s thighs with some unidentifiable,  
ridiculous music emanating from the man’s iPod docking station in the background. Somewhere  
between finishing up a dinner of chicken fajitas and settling down for late channel surfing, Louis  
had climbed onto Harry’s lap for a more memorable occupation.

They were necking like teenagers whose parents forbade them to spend time alone together until  
Harry’s jazz ringtone disrupted them, and Louis accidentally bit his companion’s lip. Harry hisses  
and curses under his breath when he tastes blood on his tongue, breaking into a chuckle  
afterwards. Louis apologises after it stops being hilarious.

“Sorry, honey- Harry, no!” Louis dives onto the couch for safety from Harry trying to tickle him,  
squealing with unruly laughter when the man’s fingertips dig into his sides. ‘You’re evil, Styles.”  
The regret is as far from Harry’s expression as can be; he picks his phone up from the coffee table  
and reels Louis back onto his lap simultaneously. He pecks his boy’s forehead before answering  
the relentless call. “Hello?”

Louis has enough patience to allow Harry time to take the call without interrupting him; he parts  
from the boring conversation to retrieve some seedless grapes from the kitchen island. He sits on  
the sofa with a bowl of the fruit on his lap while Harry finishes up, unknowingly being tipped on  
his side so he’s leaning against Harry’s chest.

When Harry hangs up, he drapes his arm over Louis’ shoulder and treats the boy’s resistance with  
an uncoordinated bunch of kisses. Louis flicks a grape in Harry’s face to retaliate but it  
accomplishes nothing because the latter confiscates his grape bowl.  
“Oye.” Louis cries out with a furious pout. “That’s mine.”

Harry hums with intentional ignorance before nudging Louis to lay down below him. He squeezes  
Louis’ derriere shamelessly through his obscenely tight underwear. “In my defence, aren’t you  
mine?”

“No.” Louis says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He giggles when Harry’s fingers  
pinch the skin of his belly where he is most ticklish. “Keep your hands to yourself, Styles.”  
“Gemma was on the phone.” Harry diverts the topic of their conversation while settling down in  
the cradle of Louis’ thighs, resting his cheek on the boy’s ultra-soft and warm skin. “Said she  
found a new roommate.”

“Already?” Louis’ disappointment riddles the crevices of his expression.  
“It’s been three months, kitten.” Harry tries not to laugh at Louis’ display of heartbreak; he has yet  
to discern whether the mood is genuine or feigned. “I’m happy she’s found someone to finally  
share in the bills for that place.”

Louis nibbles on his bottom lip. “We should go over there to meet this new person.”  
Harry sighs, forfeiting his earlier hope that Louis won’t go barging into his old flat with a crown  
and sceptre laying out strict regulations for this newcomer. “Do we have to, kitten?”  
“Obviously.” Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s curls and tugs a little too harshly. “What if  
they’re a psychopath or have a weird doll collection? You know Gemma hates creepy dolls.”  
“Alright, alright.” Harry closes his eyes and untangles his boy’s hand from his hair to clasp it  
firmly. “I’ll text her and find out when we can pop by.”

“Why do we have to be so formal just because I moved out?” Louis grabbed a bunch of grapes  
from the discarded bowl on the floor below him. “We’re not calling to ask when we come over,  
Styles. We aren’t eighty years old.”

There was no probable effective way to keep Louis from pulling on a pair of shoes closest to the  
door and Harry finds himself following his boy into the garage. Louis lets Harry drive because in  
the face of chaos or calm, the latter is the safest driver he’s known; the boy is the kind of driver  
who ditches red lights at barren intersections and doesn’t always indicate when switching lanes.  
Gemma isn’t expecting either of them by the look on her face when Louis uses his own key to  
enter her flat. She thinks about arguing, opens her mouth to voice her complaints but then  
collapses back against her couch without a word. Louis struts into the living room and plops down  
on the sofa’s armrest while Harry disappears into the kitchen.

“So.” Louis prompts. “Where is he?”  
“Your replacement, you mean?” Gemma laughs when Louis kicks her hip before welcoming the  
boy alongside her on the couch. “He’s coming back on Saturday with his things.”  
Harry has returned by then with a bottle of Smartwater and takes a seat in the single sofa across  
from them. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s studying and working at some garage off the highway. I think he told me about playing a  
sport too.”

“Where’s he studying?” Louis is the one to ask, waking up from Gemma’s company to soon after  
fit himself on Harry’s lap.

The man has to sit back to accommodate Louis where he curls on him without an ounce of care to  
avoid bruising them. Louis’ motivation becomes apparent when he steals Harry’s water bottle to  
take a long swig from it.

“North Eastern State.” Gemma answers with a disinterested yawn. “Stupid private colleges and  
their snobbish student populous.”

Harry chuckles, trying to secure Louis against him so the boy doesn’t slip off his lap. Louis  
doesn’t cooperate for a whole minute until he’d tired out. “Is he snobbish?”  
“You know what I mean.” Gemma glowers at her less than empathetic sibling.  
Harry harbours disbelief. “I don’t think I do.”

“I do.” Louis supplies helpfully. He’s gotten himself comfortable draped across Harry’s lap and  
both armrests, his legs hooked over the second one so they dangled purposelessly. “I know what  
you mean.”

Gemma and Louis share in a fist-bump as accomplices in their private logic. Harry has long since  
forsaken his own efforts toward understanding his sister and boyfriend when they immersed  
themselves in raging conversation.

“Won’t he have quite a distance to travel everyday if he stays here?” Harry questions when the  
curiosity surfaces.

“Yeah but North Eastern is in the middle of nowhere. He said this is the closest he can get and  
avoid paying with his right arm.” Gemma replies, waking up from her sprawled out position and  
slides her feet into unicorn bedroom slippers. “You guys are staying over?”  
“No.” Harry noticed that Louis was trying very hard to keep his yawning at bay; tears reddened  
the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose was getting pinker with every second. A muffled sound  
of exhaustion left Louis when Harry’s lips grazed his. “Ready to go?”

“Can we have McDonalds for dinner?” Louis stood with a lazy stretch, standing on his tiptoes and  
cracking his knuckles well above his head. He was beaming to tempt Harry into agreeing.  
“No, kitten.” Harry winked for a hint of cruel finality. He was prepared for Louis’ following  
argument and started walking away before Louis can begin a façade of disappointment. “I will not  
be changing my mind.”

Louis was outraged when he fluidly manoeuvred himself onto Harry’s back, tacking on a bit more  
squirming than necessary so the man has to grip his thighs for balance. “You didn’t even let me  
pout though, Papi.”

“Because you have weaponised that pout of yours. I won’t be taking any chances.” Harry  
nonetheless reaffirms his grasp on the underside of Louis’ thighs, leaving the lounge sans any  
visible strain of carrying another person.

“How about Chinese take-out?” Louis is not surrendering his hope that Harry will let him have  
something greasy and unwholesome for dinner. “But not from-”

“Chinese take-out sounds perfect.” Harry agrees with as much of a devious lilt as he can muster.  
Two weeks ago he discovered a health-conscious Asian takeaway not two blocks away from  
them. Louis almost wept when he learned that they cooked with organic olive oil and minimalized  
the calorie intake for any of their dishes.

* * * * *

Tony’s wedding was glorious, if any of his overzealous colleagues had a say in it. Gemma and  
Louis have known him the longest and they put together a tiny budget for not only a bachelor  
party, but worked with Earl’s cooperation to host a reception. In Louis’ words, weddings didn’t  
have to cost much in order for it to be phenomenal.

Earl’s cousin let them have a room in his winery which is a little out of town for the bachelor  
party, and gladly sponsored them a few bottles of fine red wine. Gemma denounced the thought of  
hiring strippers before Louis could and they were glad that Tony agreed as well. His cousin from  
Jamaica was less thrilled.

Harry went straight to Jim and Earl with his offer to pay for the reception’s catering, because both  
Louis and Gemma would dethrone his kindness with the excuse that they could handle it. He  
wasn’t half as close with Tony as they were but Harry knew well beforehand that he’d feel  
miserable if he didn’t help in some way. Jim and Earl swore not to tell those who would oppose  
the generosity and took Harry’s cheque straight to the humble catering company.

Jim’s brother was the town Sheriff and he consented to letting one of their impounded confiscated  
vehicles being used as the wedding car. Of course Louis was the one who chose the Porsche 718  
Boxster over the Grand Cherokee; Tony is all about glamour and deserved the flashiest ride they  
could find.

By Friday night, the conclusion to their bachelor party hype was too draining to be enthralling.  
Louis restricted himself to a glass of red wine while Harry stuck to the same glass of cognac. They  
exchanged the most humiliating recollections involving Tony and had him begging them to sit  
down after three hours.

Tony remarked drunkenly that should this marriage fail despite his fabulously ardent ef orts the  
first person he’s calling is Louis.

“Nothing’s better than being second best.” Louis raises his glass in a tribute to Tony’s  
proclamation, grinning bashfully at the bitter-sweet comment.  
Tony downs the crisp, transparent dregs of his martini glass. “Oh no, sugar. When you get that  
call, I’ll be asking for your man’s number.”

Everyone at the table bursts into laughter that is easily fuelled by intoxication. Louis looks  
betrayed but that expression wavers not two moments later when he decides that the artificial  
anger is too much effort.

Harry has his arm draped over the back of Louis’ chair, serving informally as the boy’s support  
system whenever Louis’ posture sways toward him. He reaches out to brush Louis’ fringe out of  
his eyes. “With all due respect, Tony, I don’t think I can make you happy at all.”  
Louis’ triumph illuminates the blue of his eyes when he tilts his head back and clumsily kisses  
Harry’s chin even though that is below his intended target. Harry withdraws mentally from their  
celebratory gathering for a moment to peck Louis’ lips chastely, smirking benevolently at the taste  
of wine on those swollen, rosy cushions.

“Trust you to make rejection sound charming.” Louis distractedly scratches Harry’s developing  
stubble; it’s a recent personal choice that is working marvellously.

By Saturday morning everything is ready for Tony’s big day. Louis only changes into his rented  
tuxedo when he can stall no longer and Harry is making as much of a racket as he can with his car  
keys as he waits impatiently by the door. Gemma rides with them and scolds Louis for his  
improperly set hair but since they’re in a hurry she grabs a tub of gel and neatens the boy’s quiff in  
the car.

The ceremony is a lot longer than Louis anticipated but he was happy to stand at the altar for its  
entirety. They eat, dance and pay tribute to Tony’s new path in life with embarrassingly chummy  
speeches. Louis remembers taking off his shoes at some point so he can cross his legs on his chair,  
and accepts Harry’s offer to dance before they cut into the wedding cake.  
Harry isn’t sure if Louis is drunk by the time they leave the decorated hall to go home. His boy is  
walking two steps ahead of him with untied shoelaces and humming an indecipherable melody.  
“So.” Louis stops moving altogether until Harry catches up to him, then clasps the man’s hand  
firmly. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course.” Harry winds his arm securely around Louis’ hips, tugging the boy back to him every  
time he wavers. “I’m happy for Tony.”

“Me too.” Louis concedes. He’s stopped singing but now he’s trying to climbing onto Harry’s  
back on account of his own laziness. “Earl has to hire a temporary cook now while Tony is in  
Hawaii.”

Tony hadn’t wanted a honeymoon; he felt that nobody could be as dazzling in their kitchen as him  
and having someone replace him would be treason. The mention of Hawaii from his spouse  
seemed to be enough to convince Tony that two weeks away from anything familiar or strenuous  
is worthwhile. None of them had met Tony’s beau, Logan, save for the three times he visited  
Jef erson’s B&G and none of them seemed to think their dating would result in something Tony  
was initially against.

Logan was the manager of their town’s most successful financial institution and lived by his  
lonesome in a mansion on the city’s outskirts. He was a warm and surprisingly timid individual  
who retained all the manners his mother taught him, and Louis had no issue with approving of the  
match.

“Ever been to Hawaii?” Louis heard himself asking Harry as they came to a halt beside their  
vehicle.

“Once, and I can’t remember much.” Harry replies. “You want to go, kitten?”  
Louis’ nose scrunched up in conflict. “It’s really hot there.”  
“You can spend all day at the beach then.” Harry suggests. “I’ll take you to Hawaii soon enough.”  
“And I’ll take you to Germany. They have the Berlin Wall, you know.”

* * * * *

Louis had his little bag of chicken hotwings and when that was true he cared little for anything  
happening around him. He knows that Harry only bought him hotwings because he didn’t want  
an argument to break out over the call they’d just received. For now, Louis will refrain from any  
screaming.

Harry has dated two people since he bothered to consider entering a relationship and his ex is, in  
Louis’ expert opinion, an ungrateful and undeserving fool. Ana was raging drug addict who kept  
her habit under wraps for the six months she was with Harry until she unexpectedly ended things  
with him. Harry didn’t love her and he doesn’t need to convince anyone of that; he has grown  
beyond her crippling companionship and accepted early in the relationship that she was toxic to  
him.

Now however, Ana called Harry after claiming that she spent weeks trying to find him. She  
wanted to apologise for the way she behaved and took him for granted, if only to make things  
right between them. While Louis thought she was being unnecessarily inconvenient by bringing  
up a skeleton from a forgotten past, Harry thinks she deserves just a few minutes of his day to ease  
her own grief.

“How are your hotwings?” Harry sat across from Louis on the couch, leaning forward with his  
elbows on his knees.

Louis was bundled up irreversibly with a patriotic quilt and his remaining four chicken pieces. His  
mouth was a little greasy and his nose had turned pink from the spiciness but nothing compared to  
the degree of his sour glare. “Shut up.”

“Baby.” Harry thought he still could get hit with a chicken bone so he didn’t try to do more than  
grasp Louis’ chilly socked feet from under the covers. “I know you trust me more than this.”  
“I do.” It was true; Louis would let Harry hold him by a single finger whilst swaying towards a  
ledge because he knew the latter will find a way to keep him safe. “I don’t like that she’s bringing  
all this up after so long. What is she hoping to achieve?”

“Maybe she just wants to clear the air.” Harry kissed Louis’ kneecap because it’s the only bit of  
bare skin within reaching distance. “I don’t think that’s so bad.”

“You’ve forgiven her already, haven’t you?” Louis just wants to make sure. Undoubtedly, he is  
uncomfortable with this arrangement but drugs do things to people – cruel things – which they  
don’t deserve or their dwindling willpower cannot save them from. However their road to  
destruction began, he believes that anyone is worthy of the chance to make things better in the  
end.

Harry gave his boy a wry smile, weak but honest. “Of course I have.”  
Louis flashed Harry a timid grin before leaning forward with puckered lips. He gets his a kiss  
from his strapping housemate even though there are traces of his snack on his mouth. “As long as  
you’re back by dinnertime.”

“Baby I’m not going to be gone for that long anyhow.” Harry chuckles. He’s already settled down  
between Louis’ legs for the boy’s belly to serve as a warm, scented pillow. “Two hours tops.”  
“Alright.” Louis squirms until the quilt they share is reorganised to its prior glory. “What time does  
she want to meet?”

“Noon.” Harry is sighing as if the thought of leaving his home to meet this woman is miserable as  
it is. As much as Ana deserves an opportunity to apologise, Harry is a firm believer in his personal  
right to be hesitant towards her reconciliation attempt. “Think you can stay busy while I’m gone?”  
“I’m going to Gemma’s.” Louis simply responds, licking his thumbs. “She promised to buy me  
pizza if I helped her set up the surround sound on her new telly.”

When Harry goes into the bathroom in preparation of taking his leave, he is tastefully interrupted  
by Louis entering the shower as well. His boy is mildly disinterested at first; Louis hums and  
lathers the body gel in his pastel blue loofa like Harry wasn’t staring fixatedly at his dripping nude  
form. It doesn’t end with such vile separation however which is essentially all that matters. Harry  
takes over for dragging silvery soap suds across Louis’ skin, leaving a kiss wherever he can to  
compensate for his impending absence soon.

Louis gasps and jumps out of his hold when Harry dares to venture below his waist, but his  
scandal is sabotaged by his lip-biting assailant pressing him against the tile. Something must have  
been at the tip of his tongue when their contrasting, tempered gazes met across their notable height  
difference. Harry annihilated all hope of a protest by crashing his lips into Louis’ and dipping two  
fingers into the boy’s most private crevice.

Obeying their impulsive urges and taking Louis for his own, turned out to be an unfortunate plan  
because his boy is always a little heady after sex. Harry has to carry him out of the water’s spray  
and into their bedroom where he laid Louis out on their bed, damp and preening. He let Louis  
overcome the sensitivity and dull aches of such an aftermath, winking at the boy whenever he  
walked out of the closet wrestling with an item of clothing.

“Hey Harry?” Louis was restless in his seat. They were late but being on the road already gave  
them hope.

“Oh dear. We’re using first names now?” The one driving was lit up with mirth at his mocker,  
none of that visibly escaping when Louis punches his bicep with no strength at all.  
“I was going to ask, do you think Ana chose somewhere public so you won’t yell at her?”  
Harry’s brow furrows with the depth of Louis’ question. “Why are you thinking about that?”  
“Dunno. Just am.”

“Well, maybe she did.” Harry shrugs, removing one hand from the steering wheel to push back  
the stray curls threatening to block his vision. “I wasn’t going to yell at her anyway.”  
“You’re so sweet.” Louis reaches over the console to pinch Harry’s cheek.  
His victim brightens at Louis’ teasing, angling his head just the slightest to his left so he can nip at  
Louis’ fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sweet like jam.” Louis verbally ponders, distractedly tweaking Harry’s bottom lip  
between his fingers.

“I do need to drive, kitten.”

“I’m thinking strawberry jam.” Louis retracts his hand and sits back, fidgeting with his restrictive  
seatbelt. He hates how it renders the illusion of cutting up the side of his neck and plastering him  
painfully to his seat. “Do we have jam at home?”

“You hate eating jam.” Harry points out. “By the way, where did those honeycrisp apples in the  
fridge come from?”

Louis wished in moments like these he hadn’t overcome his agitated habit of biting his nails.  
“How would I know, Styles? You’re the healthnut.”

Harry is smirking to himself. If there’s any fruit Louis has come to tolerate it would be apples but  
even so, he never bothered to purchase a bag of them on his own. “I told you not everything that’s  
good for you tastes awful.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Styles. Butternut is still gross.”


End file.
